


lonely boy, did you come to call on me?

by statusquo_ergo



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Drama, Gallows Humor, Ghost Zuko (Avatar), M/M, Reincarnation, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Surreal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: Every morning at three o’clock, for one minute, the bus stop changes color.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Standing behind the counter, staring intently at the off-white Formica, Sokka wipes a damp dishrag in circles over a blob of dried ketchup that doesn’t seem to have gotten any smaller since he started cleaning it an hour ago. A square-faced man, whose name Sokka doesn’t know because he always pays in cash, sits in the same booth he always does, the one in the corner with seating for four, poring over two expensive-looking hardcover books that he switches between every few minutes and blurting out wordless noises now and again when he’s either very happy or very angry, but Sokka can’t tell which. Every hour on the hour, Sokka takes a coffeepot over to his table and refills his mug, abiding by their unspoken agreement to not acknowledge each other’s humanity in any noticeable way.

The clock starts moving backwards at around four minutes after two. Sokka rinses his dishrag in the sink and wipes it in exactly one thousand five hundred and sixty little circles over a blob of dried ketchup that isn’t getting any smaller, except that his shift is over now, so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

Outside the diner, Sokka stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and blinks against the snow falling in his eyes, the red cast of the neon sign above the door blurred into the reflection of headlights off the damp road as a blue Honda Civic speeds past. Kicking snow off the parking stops as he approaches the end of the lot, he turns left out of the drive and walks against the nonexistent traffic to the sound of birds chirping, which may or may not be a hallucination.

A chunk of ice falls right into Sokka’s sneaker and melts into his sock. He stops walking to look down at his feet, as though that’s going to change anything, and sighs loudly before he starts walking again.

Off in the distance, the Next Bus sign blinks in faint yellow patches disconnected by the burnt out bulbs in the marquee. Not that it matters anyway, this time of night; “Buses run at reduced frequencies between 2 AM and 4 AM,” the transit authority warns. One time, before he knew better, Sokka waited until ten after five for a ride back into town, only realizing the next morning that it probably would have been faster to walk. But what if the bus had shown up just as he’d left the stop? That’s the sort of thing that’ll keep a man up at night.

Sokka blinks as the snow falling in his eyes casts the bus stop in a vivid teal that makes the marquee stop blinking and everything glow a little when he tilts his head just right. Everything’s gone back to normal by the time he gets up close, the burnt out bulbs not offering information so much as a hint, or a best guess. Next Bus 3 minutes. Or maybe 8, or 9.

The bench is wet. Sokka sits on it anyway.

The bus arrives at three forty-two, and his sock is still cold.


	2. Chapter 2

At exactly nine thirty, postmeridian, Sokka walks across the vacant parking lot, past a very tall sign post holding up a very large sign that reads “Bob’s Diner,” with the word “Bob’s” printed in a vaguely script-like font that bothers him because it reminds him of a Disney’s _Aladdin_ computer game he had when he was a kid that he can’t remember anything about. Sokka wonders who Bob is, whether he designed the sign himself for the grand opening a thousand and thirty-five years ago. Whether he’s even a real person, or just a name that fit in the space that was available at the time.

Ten minutes later, at exactly two thirty, antemeridian, Sokka walks back across the vacant parking lot, yawning widely as he remembers for no particular reason the time he accidentally turned his English essay in to his Physics teacher and figures that he probably isn’t getting enough sleep, just, in general. His left elbow cracks when he stretches his arms above his head and rotates his wrist, counterclockwise, and he wonders if it’s because of the cold; fearing he might be giving himself early onset arthritis, he sticks his hands in his pockets instead.

At the rattling cough of a motor struggling off in the distance, Sokka looks up at the night sky, a mottled purple thing decorated with clouds and fog and light pollution. There are some places on the planet where the stars are out every night, where the sky looks like a place that’ll make a person believe there’s a whole galaxy out there, and a boundless universe after that, and lights and colors and sounds and all sorts of things to be discovered by anyone who knows how to look. Sokka knows there are places like that, somewhere out there; he’s seen them in picture books.

Not too far away, but still far enough, the bus stop glows in a flash of oncoming headlights. For a second, Sokka thinks it’s because the bus is coming, and he starts running as fast as he can, even though the road is slick with ice and melting snow, and it’s only when they pass each other that he realizes it’s just an old Ford Fiesta that sounds like a door slamming shut over and over again as it lumbers along, and he thinks it might be missing part of its back windshield. Rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, Sokka swears at nothing as he realizes that in the confusion, he ran past the bus stop, and now he has to turn around and go back.

How much longer now? Sokka squints against the vivid teal light and tries to read the Next Bus sign.

STAY AWAKE, it tells him.

Yes, but how much longer now?

STAY AWAKE.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sokka catches a boy sitting on the bench, and he might be dressed all in white or maybe Sokka just isn’t looking hard enough before he goes away.

The burnt out bulbs in the yellow marquee advertise the Next Bus arriving in 4 minutes. The time is now 3:01; start your countdown.

Sokka sits on the empty bench and thinks for a second that he can smell starlight.

STAY AWAKE.

I am. Yes, I am.


End file.
